C is for Caroline

12 | freedom involves a few too many cockroaches

So, not the biggest news, buuut...I talked to my parents today! Are you proud of me?

.........

Okay, I know I didn't cure cancer or anything but damn. It was hard for me. I haven't spoken to them in almost two years, and contrary to popular belief, there's actually a reason we're estranged: they suck.

My parents are the kind of people who had offspring just so that they could live out all the dreams they were never able to achieve and that they've now given up on ever trying to achieve even though they're still alive, well, and very capable of doing so.

So, the worst kind of people.

They're so enslaved to their expectations of what life is supposed to look like that they were willing to sacrifice their relationship with their only child over something as inconsequential as college. So it's either they really suck (which sounds about right), or I'm just a terrible son (which...nah, that doesn't sound right).

Despite it all, they're also the only people willing to take me in and get me back on my feet, so I didn't really have a choice in the matter. And although our reconciliation had been long overdue, I gotta be honest, I didn't reach out because I missed them or because I saw the 'error of my ways'; it was my encounter with Caroline last week that whipped me into shape.

Something about the way she had looked at me after realizing I'd done nothing new in the few weeks we'd been apart...it lit a fire under my ass. It was hard coming to the realization that if I had used even a little bit of my time more wisely, I could've had a chance with her.

And thinking back on the conversation I had with my parents today, I'm honestly kind of upset. Something I'd been avoiding for upwards of a year ended up taking only fifteen minutes to get through. That's right, fifteen minutes.

I'd called my dad's phone, and of course, my mom picked up.

As soon as she heard my voice, she got all teary, which ended up getting me teary as well. She called my dad over and then put me on speaker so that they could talk over each other in peace as they explained how worried they'd been about me (despite having had my phone number the entire time) and how they were glad I'd come to my senses. And mind you, I had barely even said anything by this point in our phone call. For all they knew, I could be calling because I'd knocked someone up and they were about to become grandparents.

Anyway, I told them that, yes, I'd called because I wanted to go back to school, and I'm not exaggerating when I say they were overjoyed. You'd have thought I just told them they were getting another tax break or something. It was way over the top.

Now, I didn't—and still don't—want to go back to school, as I'm sure you're all aware, but I told my parents that I did anyway. I knew that was the only thing I could say that would make them open their home (and their wallets) back up to me. And even though I don't want to go to school, deep down, I also know that I should.

I love Betsy and all, and would never admit to this if asked, but yes, I know that my job at the warehouse isn't going anywhere.

There, I said it.

I know I'm working a dead-end job. And although I somehow convinced myself to be satisfied with it for the past two years, seeing the great things that Caroline has in store for herself stirred something up in me. It made me want to do better for myself—to be the kind of person she deserves. The kind of person that has something to bring to a table like Caroline's. The kind of person that I know I can be.

Ignoring my natural skills and talents—choosing not to hone and better them—isn't fair to myself. I've been doing both myself and everyone else around me a disservice by limiting my potential, and Caroline was the only person to ever give it to me straight like that.

Even though our relationship ended in flames, I'll always appreciate that about her. Even when it's hard, Caroline will be honest.

But back to my parents: so since it's already June and kind of late to start applying to colleges, we decided that I'd take classes at LaGuardia this fall and apply to start school sometime in the spring. They said they'd give me the rest of the summer to finish up my business on this side of the city before moving back in with them, which, according to them, is much more time than necessary to, and I quote, "pack up that sorry storage unit I call an apartment."

It's kind of bittersweet.

On one hand, I'm extremely happy to be moving out of this leaky-ceilinged, rat infested, moldy-walled prison cell I've been using as an apartment, but on the other hand, I'm heavily dreading having to move back in with my obsessive, judgmental, helicopter ass parents. I'm a grown man for Pete's sake!

I'm already twenty years old and I've been living on my own for almost two years! After having a taste of freedom—even if freedom did involve a few too many cockroaches—how am I supposed to go back?

It's almost not worth it, but I know that going back and doing this whole school thing will mean I can have true freedom afterwards, and that's really why I agreed to move back in with them. Besides, it'll only be for a semester, and then I'm off to some campus far away from this fucking state where I won't have to see their faces again until I graduate.

And hey, maybe I'll fuck around and go to UC Berkeley.....

I'm just kidding y'all, I wasn't nearly that good of a student.

Anyway, now that I know I'm leaving in the next two months, I have to figure out how I'm going to break the news to AJ. There are a few other guys that work over at the warehouse, but I know I'm one of AJ's favorites—if not the favorite. Even though I have trouble getting into 'work mode' sometimes, I know AJ's still going to be sad when I leave.

I also know that they're going to pretend they're not sad because AJ has trouble dealing with any kind of emotion that raises their heart rate above a certain level, which means I'm going to have to force the truth out of them and will probably end up crying in the process.

I'm also going to have to break the news to my roommate cause he'll need to find someone else to live with him if he doesn't want to have to pay the entire $3,300 come September. I wish I didn't have to tell him since I'm kind of worried he'll smother me in my sleep so that he can get out of the lease (and I'm a heavy sleeper). But alas, I'm not that cruel.

Provided I make it out of this apartment alive though, I'm actually looking forward to moving back to my old neighborhood. It's nice to walk around a place and actually know the area—actually know the people there. I haven't seen a lot of my friends since my parents kicked me out because I've been to scared to visit and risk running into my parents or into someone who'll tell them I was there. It'll be nice to be able to be back home and just walk around without holding my breath.

I want to tell Caroline about this new development, but after last week, I know it's of no use. Our relationship is over, and even if it wasn't, I don't have any more fight left in me. If she doesn't already hate me (which, she definitely does), then me reaching out will do nothing but make sure of that, and I don't want that.

I want for Caroline to one day be able to look back on these few months we spent together and smile. For her to think about me and remember the good before the bad comes bubbling to the surface.

I don't want to become the kind of sour memory that Caroline buries away until she's forced to think about it, because for me, my time with Caroline will always be something sweet. Like the soft, syrupy center of an eclair, Caroline will be the thing I return to when my heart grows hard and I forget that I know how to love in the face of adversity, in the face of pain.

Despite our relationship ending in disaster, I'm still grateful for it. I'm grateful because I now know what I'm capable of. That no matter the circumstances—even if I can bring nothing else to the table—I can bring this. I can bring me.